The Misbegotten Adventures of Thomas Hardeck
by The Inky Gryphon
Summary: Thomas Hardeck, down-on-his-luck Undead adventurer, stumbles into a plot most foul - and only the help of a very confused, very grouchy Elf can get him out of it.
1. Chapter I: A Little Light Excercise

Well, this is a little experiment I knocked out while waiting for inspiration for my major project to strike. Please review - even if you hate it! And be brutal, of course. I mean it.

Hope you enjoy :) I. Gryphon

Chapter I – A Little Light Exercise

Thomas Hardeck was running again.

Recently, he seemed to be spending an awful lot of time running. Currently, he was tearing through a large, ugly copse of what might charitably called 'trees', deep in the Eastern Plaguelands. Much to his frustration, the 'trees' were tearing back. He'd already lost his cloak to a particularly spiney shrub, and it looked like his battered overcoat was next in line. Not too far behind him, a small but _very _keen Scarlet Crusade scouting party he'd had the misfortune of bumping into was hot on his heels in pursuit. Worse, his only defence against them were his legs, as there had to be at least six of them – no way he could fend the group off with his tiny, dented knife.

Technically, he supposed, it perhaps wasn't that surprising that 'Azeroth's-Best-Anti-Undead- Service' were chasing him. He was, after all, Undead.

Thomas had no idea where he was, and so was mildly surprised when he slipped, tripped, and flip-flopped his way down a steep wooded hill. A large plague-mushroom broke his fall, and he scrabbled back onto his feet. His pursuers took the opportunity to close the gap between them a little, waving swords and axes in the air. Soon he was flailing through bushes and ducking tree branches once more, but he wasn't ready for the next hill, either. Once more he tumbled head-first down a slope. This time, however, his fall was broken by a very spikey Blood-Elf.

Letting out an ear-splitting screech, the Blood-Elf flung herself away from Thomas, and he got a good look at her spikey, painful-looking armour he'd nearly impaled himself on. The Elf's scream was answered by the Scarlet scouts, who charged down the hill yelling blue murder. Once more, Thomas took off through the forest, and judging by the metallic rattles and clashes behind him, the Elf had decided to join him. This time, he was ready for the hill. He was even ready for the gloopy stream that (more or less) flowed past the base of it. He sloshed his way across, spurred on by the Crusader's yelling and the Blood-Elf's panted swearing. The forest started to thin, giving him a chance to run at full speed – pretty darn fast. His kind were built for activity. Feet pounding the ground, he headed out towards a long patch of mouldy grass, plated Elf thundering along behind. The situation wasn't as dire as it looked, he'd learnt from past experience. His unnatural stamina would carry him far further than even the Crusaders fanaticism would. Sooner or later, he'd be trotting along by himself again, exhausted humans collapsed in his wake. Whether or not the Blood-Elf would be able to keep up, of course, remained to be seen.

Thomas' sharp eyes caught a glint of fire behind the opposite tree-line. _Uh-oh, what's this? _ The glint got closer, and the murky clearing echoed with the thunder of hooves. He dove to the side as a huge horned and fiery charger leaped from the trees, and a clash to his right told him the Elf had done likewise. Craning his neck, he watched as the charger headed right for the Scarlet Crusade scouts. A figure in dark robes trailing fel smoke leapt from the beast's back, hurling curses and twirling the most evil stave Thomas had ever seen, which was saying a lot, with him coming from the Undercity. A small green figure perched on the robed man's shoulder, firing off blasts of felfire.

"Come on! He can take care of himself!"

The Elf was already on her feet, reaching a greaved hand down to him. She was right, already one Crusader was down, with a further two on the way out.

"Maybe he needs-"

"He's fine, let's go before something even _worse _turns up."

"Worse? Wha-"

The Elf gave up and hoiked Thomas to his feet, before hauling him after her. With one last look, the two hurried out of sight.

--

Thomas trudged along the narrow dirt path, watching as his new companion stumbled ahead of him. Sure, they'd been running for their lives, but surely she couldn't be _that_ tired. Her shoulders, eyebrows, even her ears drooped abjectly. It didn't help that her armour looked three sizes too big, and it's strange design seemed to have been designed for a different type of creature altogether. Her ice blonde hair fell in sweaty straggles from under her helm, and whenever he caught a glimpse of her face he could see her green eyes shining dully through its grille. She hadn't said a word since their unexpected escape, and the silence was making Thomas uneasy. Finally, he plucked up the courage to break the silence.

"I'm heading for Light's Hope Chapel, you going that way too?"

"Yes."

Light's Hope Chapel was a good two day's march away, and the one place in the Eastern Plaguelands Thomas felt he could trust. Both Horde and Alliance adventurers could find work there, and he had a few bits and pieces he'd found on his travels that the artisans who made the Chapel their base might find useful.

"So... you're out here because..?"

Dourly, the Elf replied. "It's the Plaguelands. I'm a Paladin. I fight the plague. Where _else_ should I be?"

"Oh. Right." He took the hint and shut up. _This is going to be a long march. _


	2. Chapter II: Lightsdance, Light's Hope

Just realised I didn't put a dsiclaimer in, oops. Here goes:

Warcraft and all situations and races therein belong to Blizz, not me. Instert obligatory statement about current status of auther's bank-account, the lack of funds therein, and the possible link between said account and lack of copywrite ownership

OK, That's done. And now, discerning readers, I present:

Chapter II – Lightsdance, Light's Hope

As night closed in, Thomas began to hunt for a safe place to rest. The Elf was still trudging along beside him, wrapped in her silence and grouchy as ever. A likely-looking stand of trees caught his attention, and he led the way over. At first, the Elf slumped in the road, confusion radiating through her oversized armour, but as he dragged a few dead branches into the space under the rotting trees and started to build a fire, she cottoned on and hurried over. She shrugged her small pack off and rootled around inside it before unwrapping a small loaf of bread. Thomas stared hungrily at the fire, wishing he had the courage to ask for a bit.

"You can sleep if you like, I'll take the watch..." Thomas frowned as the Elf vigorously shook her head.

"No way. I have no idea who you are, you could be some sort of thief or, or, axe-murderer, and you just expect me to trust you? You, the Undead? Not bloody likely. No."

Five minutes later, she was fast asleep propped against a tree.

--

Dawn broke softly the next morning, light filtering golden and orange through the miasma that covered the Plaguelands. Daiela Lightsdance watched the beautiful lightshow in wry amusement, musing on all the mad turns her life had taken this past week. At her side the Undead she found herself travelling with snuffled in his sleep. To think that just a few days ago she had been nothing but your average Paladin, fresh from the Exodar trainers, heart full of hope and ambition. She had paid a Mage to transport her to Southport, and once there joined a caravan of soldiers making their way east to battle the Plague. As the lone Draenei of the group – most likely the first Draenei the Humans she travelled with had ever seen – she had attracted a fair few stares.

And now here she was, trapped in the form of those wretched Blood-Elves, stuck with an Undead for a travelling companion.

The hardest part had been learning how to walk again. Her knees now faced backwards, and feet with toes required an entirely different posture to walk on than hooves. Luckily her ability to use the Light had not abandoned her, or she would have been well-and-truly mangled by the local wildlife by now.

With a sigh, Daiela decided to get it over with. The armour had to come off. It had been a gift, a last parting favour from a Master to his favourite pupil, crafted in finest Draenic fashion to fit her like a glove. Now, of course, it was redundant, her body was just too changed. Piece by piece, the ornate plate hit the ground. Daiela winced with every chink of metal, sure the armour was scolding her for abandoning it. Once done, she was left in her rumpled and oversized leather undertunic and slacks, shivering in the early morning chill.

"Nice legs."

Long ears twitching, Daiela calmly punched the Undead as hard as she could.

"Argh! Okay, okay, oww..." Clutching the arm she'd clobbered, Thomas sank back on his heels. "You know, you still haven't told me your name."

"How lax of me. Alas, my memory must be failing. By the way, you get to carry my gear to the Chapel. Sleep well?" With a perky smile, Daiela set about finding herself some breakfast.

--

Thomas struggled under the weight of the armour he now carried. The Elf was at his side once more, tripping over her feet every now-and-then. Gradually, the road turned to the west, and Thomas knew they would have to get off it soon, else they would blunder straight into Corrin's Crossing, Scourge stronghold.

"Daiela. My name is Daiela." Shooting the Elf a sidelong glance, he could see that she was watching the road ahead, frowning lightly.

"Dyellar? Die-ellah? Ugh, you Elves and your unpronounceable names!" Grinning, Thomas stopped in the road and stuck out his arm. "Thomas Hardeck, at your service, Mi'lady!"

"Die-ellah, I suppose." Gingerly, she reached out and shook his hand. "Um – doesn't this path lead to somewhere dangerous? I was warned to stay off it... and don't call me that. Seriously, or I'll hit you again."

"Yup, right into a ghouls-nest. Best if we get into the forest again soon. Not much to worry about there except for the bats. And the carrion grubs. And the darkhounds, of course. Er... yeah. Best get going."

Twitching an eyebrow, Daiela sighed. "Sounds about right. Light knows what possessed me to come to this place."

Hoisting her pack further up her back, she took a decisive step off the road – and promptly tripped over her feet again. Muttering curses, she righted herself and started pushing her way through the mouldy grassland. Around her the day continued in typical Plaguelands fashion: the air was thick with the stifling clouds that every living and unliving thing seemed to emit. The trees were swollen with boils and pustules that occasionally burst, sending out sprays of stinking sap. Insects swarmed, even though the northern climate should have been too cool at this time of year to attract them. Everything was tainted with a sheen of red, as if the entire land had been dunked in blood.

--

Again the day started to end. The land had started to crinkle, and Thomas guessed they were getting close to the Pestilent Scar, the huge rift in the land that he and Daiela would have to work their way around to get to Light's Hope Chapel. There were a few single trees in the area, but they were far too mucky with Plagued sap to use as cover. Thomas had no desire to end up covered in the gunk after a night spent under _those_ trees. At last, Daiela made the decision to camp on one of the many hills, as they would be able to notice anything approaching.

Well, that was the idea, anyway. As it was, the sky decided to throw a new river onto the land that night, and the two travellers spent a miserable six hours huddled between their chosen hilltops, bereft of any cover whatsoever.

"I'm drenched."

"Yes, Thomas. I'd noticed. You smell like wet horse, by the way." Daiela had given up trying to wring out her sopping hair hours ago. _Oh well, at least it's getting a wash..._ Her bare feet – bare because her real race had no need for shoes, and she'd had no chance to pick up a pair – sunk into the reddish puddle slowly growing around her. "We'd better get a move on. We can't spend all night like this, and it's nearly dawn anyway..."

Thomas shook his head to flick the water from his eyes. "Wet horse, you say? Better than wet dog, I suppose. Sounds like a plan; to the march it is. If we keep going south we'll pass the bottom of the scar by midmorning, I reckon."

"Thomas, what are you actually doing out here?" The question had been bothering Daiela for some time, and she'd finally plucked up the courage to ask. "Surely you'd want to stay as far away from the Scourge as possible, I mean, I know I would, if I were, uhh... well, you know..." She stammered to a halt, vaguely waving a hand in Thomas' direction.

"Heh... wondering when you were gunna ask that. Seems a bit daft, doesn't it? Well, to put it simply, I _had_ to come here. We Undead don't need much, but we still need a little so survive. Tiny bit of food, room to sleep in once a week, yearly trip to the Necromancer to keep the rot at bay – it all adds up. I'm skint, need any cash I can get my claws on, heh." Wiggling his bony fingers in the air, he sent a sly glance at the Elf. "Alright, I've told you mine, your turn. And no more of that 'I'm a Paladin' junk."

"Junk? That was the truth! I really did come out here to fight the Scourge! It's just gone a bit wrong, is all."

"A bit, uh-huh. Right. Well, whatever. Look, there it it is – the tip of the Pestilent Scar. From here on, we're on the home stretch."

Daiela followed Thomas' outstretched arm north, where the ground bucked into ragged hills. As far east as she could see the hills continued, but she knew the Chapel wasn't too far away. She could feel the presence of the Light, wafting over the land like a balmy breeze. In her eagerness to reach it, she tripped over her feet.

"Blast, damnitalltohellIhatethisplace, OWW!" After brushing off her knees, she whacked Thomas. "_Stop _laughing. The sooner we get to the Chapel, the better," she muttered to herself.

--

Soon signs of civilisation started to appear. Furrows in the grass marked a frequently travelled (but now very muddy) path, which Thomas and Daiela followed gratefully. The tip of the Scar came and went, with the two travellers pausing for a rest and lunch. Remembering Thomas' earlier comment about still needing to eat, Daiela offered him half her remaining bread, which he promptly scoffed.

Shouldering packs and plate armour once more, they moved out. Before they had walked for five minutes, the thud of hooves approached from the east, and a Human mounted on his horse trotted by. He nodded politely as he passed, but apart from that showed no interest in the two Horde.

Daiela let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. Seeing one lone Human on the road was bad enough, turning up in Light's Hope Chapel and explaining her situation to whatever Alliance authority she was handed over to would _not_ be fun.

How was she supposed to explain what she was, when what she looked like was the enemy? She'd be the laughing-stock of the Exodar. She could see it now: 'oh look, there goes the girl who got stuck as a pointy-eared mana-addict! I even heard she had to be rescued by a walking corpse, hehe!'

Another traveller passed them by; this time a scruffy-looking Troll on an equally scruffy Worg. She had clearly been out in the Plaguelands herself, and gave a friendly wave as she rushed ahead of them.

Slowly the ground sloped up and smoothed out, and before long Thomas could smell smoke on the breeze. Not long after, a forest of tents and lean-to's appeared out of the thin red mist, surrounding the plain but lovingly cared for buildings of Light's Hope Chapel. The Chapel itself towered over the tent-forest, and most of the activity centred around it. Small shapes scurried between the maze of tents, and banners of all sorts fluttered like fabric rainbows above. A quick glance showed Daiela the blue of Alliance, red of Horde, purple of Dalaran, and a whole host of others she didn't recognise. The path was far wider and easier to follow now, even if it was still a muddy swamp.

Thomas and Daiela squelched their way towards the tents, heading for the wide dirt road that split the campsite down the middle. At the end of the aisle the Chapel waited for them, a warm glow diffusing through it's open doors. The majority of the tent's residents were Human, but nearly every race was represented. Out of the corner of her eye, Daiela watched a loud group of Draenei bickering playfully with a pair of Dwarves. They didn't appear to notice her, for which she was eternally grateful. A crowd of mercenaries hovered near a signpost with various wanted posters pinned to it, eyeballing eachother shiftily. Fixing their eyes on the Chapel's interior, the two sidled past the mercenaries and up the stairs leading inside.

Immediately they were accosted by a doughy, cuddly Gnome who chirped at them until they admitted they had just got in from the road. With a small gasp of delight, she declared that they were now in her charge.

"Well my dears," she twittered, "you absolutely _must _come with me! Yes, even you, Mr. Forsaken. Even you need you need sleep! Trust me, we have your kind through here all the time! And you my dear, are absolutely _starved_, I'm sure! Look at you, just skin and bones! Er, no offence to you, Sir..."

Shrugging at eachother, they decided to allow the Gnome to have her way. Daiela truly was hungry, and facing the trial to come would be much easier after a good night's sleep. Thomas, personally, couldn't care less what happened to him now he had arrived.

After a meal of spicy stew, 'my very own speciality, dears! Here, lovey, let _that_ put some meat on your bones! Er, no offence, Sir,' they were shepherded into a curtained off annex to the main Chapel, and introduced to their new beds.

"You can stay here as long as you like! Please don't mind the other guests, but as you know, there's no such thing as Horde and Alliance here, and we get all sorts!" The Gnome giggled and plumped the pillows on Daiela's pallet. "If there's anything you need, pet, you just ask for Hilfy! That's me, of course. And you too, Mr. Forsaken, you can ask, too!"

With a final chirrup about breakfast and washing facilities, The Gnome vanished in a puff of skirts and blonde pigtails.

"Well. She certainly liked you, didn't she, pet?" Thomas grinned and flopped onto his pallet.

"_Absolutely_!"

--

--

Thanks for the reviews guys, you two made my day :) Roll on the COOKIEZ!!


	3. Chapter III: Dangerous Jewellery

It all be Blizzes, not mine, mon. Seriously, just ask them if you don't believe me.

Well, this look a little longer to arrive than I thought it would, heh. Also, it hasn't been run through the editor (aka my sister), so if you find any Sentences of Doom(tm) and/or funny-lookin' spellings, drop a line. Heck, drop one anyway!

Gryph

Chapter III - Dangerous Jewellery

"So you're actually a Draenei." The Exarch sighed loudly, swishing his tail back and forth. "Tell me how this happened, little one."

"I... I don't know. It happened at night as I camped out near the mountains to the east, I was asleep... and when I woke up I was like this! How can this have _happened_ to me! I've never done anything wrong, I've been a model Paladin, I've never even squashed a bug-"

The Exarch cut her off. "It would appear that some loon with an upjumped 'Orb of Deception' or somesuch has been running around, experimenting on travellers unlucky enough to pass by him. You're the fifth this week. Mardeth! 'Nother one for you!"

Daiela looked around as the Exarch called out, and watched as a _real_ Blood-Elf made his way over. His long ears drooped in exhaustion, but he gave Daiela a cheery smile.

"Morning, miss. Pity, You make a lovely Elf, heh." As he spoke, he twisted his hands in the air, summoning Arcane magic from the Twisting Nether. "Hold still, this might tingle a little."

Purple strings of magic wrapped themselves around Daiela's body until they formed a shimmering cocoon. Anxiously, she stared at the inside wall, and gasped as the magic took hold. Slowly at first but soon speeding up, her skin changed colour into her natural pale blue. Bones all over her body bulged and oozed into their proper proportions, and with some satisfying clicks, her legs reversed position. Her head was once more crowned with a businesslike pair of sharp, pointy horns, and hooves hard as stone clacked on the floor as she shuffled her legs. Once more her tail whipped behind her, and her narrow tentacles slipped out from under her hair.

As the shimmer of magic died away, she let out a shriek, and flung herself at the Elf.

"Thankyouthankyou_thankyou!_ Ooooh, you have no idea how good this feels!" Her hooves sent up little sparks as she skittered on the stone floor, bouncing in relief. The Elf reached up and patted her on her shoulder, desperately gasping for breath.

"Ooh, I'm sorry!" With a final squeeze, she released him, and turned to the Exarch. Dipping into a formal bow, she repeated her heartfelt appreciation. He chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.

"Not a problem, my dear. Mardeth and I get all sorts of problems to deal with; yours is but a pleasant diversion." At his side, Mardeth nodded ruefully, rubbing his lightly bruised ribs. With a final salute the Exarch sent her on her way. Daiela trotted off to tell Thomas the good news. It didn't even occur to her that, now she was safe and in her right form, she needn't have anything to do with the Forsaken.

--

Thomas was not having such a productive time with his own little problem. He had located an Undead Mage he'd had dealings with before, and taken him into a quiet corner to discuss his issue. Furtively, he'd stuck his hand in his overcoat's deep inner pocket, and brought out a gleaming pendant.

The Mage immediately jumped back and shrieked "Have you any idea what that thing _is_?!" before frantically making warding-signs in the air before him.

"Clearly not, that's why you're here..." Thomas held the pendant at arm's length, staring at it suspiciously. "Ok, so what is it?"

"It's a demondim summoning stone! You have to get rid of that thing _quick_, else you'll have trouble like you've never known!"

"Right... how? And why did I find it round the neck of a dead darkhound?"

"A darkhound? Oh no... why, Thomas, _why_ do always have to do this to me? Look, if that thing was found on the ground, or in a stream or whatever, then fine. But you took it off a dead body! How dense do you have to be? Never touch the dead stuff! If I've told you once..."

"You haven't actually told me at all," Thomas muttered sulkily. "Merely hinted... alright, so I messed up again. What long and arduous quest do I have to go through this time? And what's a demon-thingy when it's at home?"

"They're a type of Elemental, seemingly warped by Fel. They're very rare, and we have no idea where they come from, but it's been said that Warlocks summon them from one of the Legion's corrupted planets to do their dirty-work. That necklace-" the Mage pointed a quivering finger at the pendant- "Is a marker they follow, activated by cursed blood."

"Oh. Like darkhound blood?"

"Yes!"

"...Oh."

"Yes! There are only two outcomes for this – either you get stomped on by the demondim, or you get stomped on by it's (doubtless now very irate) summoner!"

"Er, I prefer the outcome where I don't get stomped on by anything..."

The Mage watched as Thomas slumped where he stood, dejectedly staring at his feet, pendant dangling loosely from his hand. Sighing heavily, he decided to take pity on him. "I know of a Dwarf. Dark Iron, exiled to Ironforge. He's a Warlock, I've heard he's the best to talk to about summonings. Perhaps he can help you. Goes by the name of Rustahk Meltbane. What's that spacegoat doing?"

"Space- oof!" Suddenly he was staggering under the weight of a large, blue, very happy Draenei.

"Thomas, look! He fixed me!"

Before he knew it, the girl had snatched him up and was spinning him round. "Argh! Get off me, crazy goat-thing!"

"Crazy what? Oh, you don't know, I can't believe it, I'm such an idiot..."

"Sure; whatever, lady, just put me down," Thomas panted as he wriggled in the clearly insane Dreanei's arms. Just as he was breaking free she let go and spun him around, bending down until her face was level with his.

"Thomas. Look into my eyes. It's me you twit! Daiela. The Elf? A-ring any bells?"

Dazed, he stared up into her crystal-clear eyes, surrounded by thick dark lashes, set into an exotic, pastel blue face, horns arching gracefully over her shining hair.

"Heeey, you can be Daiela if you want to, honey- aargh!" Once more, Thomas clutched a his sore right arm. "Well well, maybe you really _are_ her..."

"Humph. Sorry, perhaps I should have said something before."

"Perhaps? What's _happened_ to you?! Not that I mind it, of course... heh, who would? Er, stop looking at me like that..."

A throat clearing to his left brought Thomas' attention back to the Mage, who stood with one hip cocked and his eyebrows almost at his hairline. "Not to interrupt your touching reunion, but you _do_ have something _slightly_ more important to worry about right now."

Daiela shot the Mage a look that clearly stated 'what could possibly be more important than me', but Thomas' stifled groan caused her to turn back to the Undead she still thought of as her travelling companion. "Thomas," she started, voice dangerously calm, "what is going on?"

"Oh come on! Who are you, my Mother?! Look, it's nothing, just a little trouble with some cursed necklace thing-"

Once more the other Undead interrupted. "Perhaps I haven't made myself clear. That thing the Warlock summoned was brought here to kill, and that necklace is a beacon calling to it. If it catches up with you still in possession of the pendant, you and not it's summoner, it _will_ kill you. It won't care you picked up the necklace by accident, because in it's mind, you are _not_ supposed to have it, and are therefore a danger to it or it's summoner. Said summoner, by the way, will be wanting his new pet back, and probably doesn't mind who he has to go through to get it. It's been nice knowing you, Tom. And you by extension, miss Draenei.

With that, the Mage waved flippantly, before limping off and vanishing into a corridor. Frowning, Thomas slowly dared to meet Daiela's eyes. She stood towering above him, arms folded against her chest, tail lashing behind her. Her eyes blazed as she stared into nothing, feral glare snarling up her alien face. With a visible twitch she brought herself back to the present, and she shot Thomas a tight-lipped smile as he stared up at her.

"Well. I did come to the Plaguelands looking for adventure, and I appear to have found some. Did your... friend... give you any help?"

"Huh, what? I- you- you're asking- look, you can't be serious, I mean, you're..." He trailed off as Daiela pinned him with a smirk that would have seemed cruel, were it not for the loosening around her eyes. Uncrossing her arms, she reached out and laid her hands on his stooped shoulders, bending down until he didn't have to crane his neck so much to see her face.

"Did I overhear that man mention something about sneaking into Ironforge? It just so happens that there appears to be an item that can change one's race, semi-permanently at that, in the area. I have first-hand evidence of it's effectiveness."

"You're offering to come with me." It wasn't a question, but Daiela could hear the hope ringing in his hoarse voice. In response, she clapped her hands down on his shoulders, snickering as he staggered slightly.

"Yep! Have to say, I was getting a bit bored, killing zombie after zombie." Laughing airily, she dipped her horns and danced a little on her hooves, and Thomas realised she must be excited about her new quest. He chuckled shyly in response, still unsure about their new arrangement.

--

The demondim had woken early that morning, and had stretched and yawned deliciously, before shaking it's loose mane free of kinks. It's reptilian eyes still murky with sleep, it had risen itself onto it's four delicate, six-toed paws, and sauntered out onto the lip of rock surrounding it's home. The home itself, a cosy and well-aired cave, was set into the wall of a steepish cliff, and gave an excellent view of the surrounding land. The demondim had lowered itself onto the sun-warmed stone, listening with half a long, sculpted ear as the local fauna greeted the new day with a cacophonous dawn chorus of squeals and bellows. A small herd of _ghhudhe_ preybeasts had wandered past in the night, and the demondim licked it's muzzle at the thought of the succulent and tender meat it would soon be hunting down. For now, though, it merely basked in the searing heat of another glorious, fel-tainted day in it's homeland.

The plains laid out before the creature were a crisp golden brown, shot through with lines of purple and mauve where shrub-lined streams meandered through the grassland. Overhead the green skies were dusted with the lightest smattering of cloud, racing by as the gentle winds pushed them on. Winged insects filled the air with a subtle drone as they frolicked in the sunlight.

The demondim was the apex predator in this world, and had been long before the legion had torn through and brought it's race to self-awareness. Newly gifted with a keen and ruthless intelligence, the demondim had travelled the planet, bringing all under their delicate heels. Forests were tamed, herds were hunted with new sophistication, and the demondim were no longer reduced to sleeping in caves and burrows as they learned how to build – although this particular individual still chose to. The lasting effect of fel energies on the land had originally devastated the planet, but soon the beasts and plants became too corrupted themselves to suffer any more ill effects, and life went on, much as it had before, to all those except the demondim.

The demondim had never forgotten their original name for themselves, and never would, but now it was held in ridicule, mocked as it gathered dust. The Legion had chosen and altered the demondim to sow chaos, and they had _loved _their new purpose, revelling alongside their masters in wanton destruction. As the years rolled by, however, the Legion had grown bored of their new playthings, and the demondim had been left to themselves.

With a jerk, the demondim's eyes rolled into it's skull and it's body flopped loosely. A rough howl tore from it's throat, and it started to twitch. As suddenly as the fit started, though, it ended, and the demondim jerkily hauled itself upright, a delighted grin twisting across it's muzzle.

_A Summons! Ah, but it's been too long, too long indeed! _The shooting purple and green lights behind the demondim's eyeballs gave way as the summoning spells after-effects bled away.

_Azeroth, the Summoner said. Fair Azeroth! With your clear blue skies and fields of luscious green! And towering forests full of life, all for me, with only the price of one little kill! A thousand years and ten thousand more since last I walked your lands! Ah, to see you once more, to taste your blood as it runs through your veins! And oh! Such blood it is, full of Magic, full of..._

Silencing it's whirling memories, the demondim prepared to make the journey to Azeroth. A Summoner had demanded it's aid, and from past experience, the demondim knew that was no mean feat. The spells and incantations, the proper reagents, the physical cost to be paid... just to be given the chance to contact it's kind. Just that, a contact – after all that trouble, not even a guarantee that the demondim would aid whoever was persistent enough to reach them.

This particular demondim was ever the gracious kind, though. Someone had gone through all that bother, just to ask for it's help? Why, of course it would come! Touching, really, that the Summoner had come to the demondim at all, as there were much easier - but granted, less effective – nightmares-for-hire to be had. And the demondim were nightmares, _oh_ yes.

--

In the highest room in the tallest tower of a particularly well-kept inn in Stormwind City, a Warlock was busy tidying away the tools of her trade. At her side, a small bowl of steaming fuchsia pink goop bubbled merrily away, all that remained of the Warlock's latest effort.

At last, after so many years of searching, she had found the 'Key to the Demondim', a manuscript so rare that it wouldn't surprise her at all if she had the sole remaining copy. She had unwound it's secrets, spoken the words, sacrificed her own flesh and blood – and had been _answered._ Affirmative, at that.

Letting out a little giggle, the woman sprang to her feet, knowing that even now, somewhere out there, her new 'friend' would be hunting down 'the necklace', and when it found it, her 'friend' would bring the pretty little beacon to her, and she would give her 'friend' it's 'mission'.

Oh, this was going to be _great._


	4. Chapter IV: Culture Shock

Disclaimer: Not mine. Alas.

Whoo, did I ever get a case of Ican'tbebotheredtowritersblock. My demondim-muse decided to rescue me, and proceeded to bite me at three in the morning. Shouldn't be so long for the next chapter, I hopes :)

Also, I have a picture of the demondim itself up on my Devart account (link's in my profile). Keep checkin' for other stuff I've got coming!

Chapter IV – Culture Shock

It took them three days to find the Orb of Deception and it's owner, but find them Daiela and Thomas did. Although pretty quickly they wished they hadn't.

A series of clumsy pawprints surrounded the rather messy corpse, and the Orb itself appeared to have been used as a football briefly, judging by the muck covering it. Something had had great fun rolling in the filth made when blood mixed with mud, and the plagued plants nearby had been sprayed with a nasty-looking brown liquid.

"Um."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Travel-stained and weary, Daiela slouched next to Thomas as they stared dejectedly into the gruesome playground. "Well, Thomas, _you're_ the one that needs this thing, so _you're_ the one going in after it."

"Aw Daiela, come on, it's _gross_ down there and I've only just-"

"Take it like a man, Thomas, before I push you in."

Thomas knew now, after travelling with the awful woman for the past three days, that she would do exactly that, and enjoy it too. With a slight whimper he set off down the steep slope into the pit they found themselves standing on the edge of, slipping and eventually sliding to the bottom.

"Eww... hey Daiela, I think I just discovered the foulest substance on Azeroth – how much do you reckon the Enchanters would pay for it?"

Daiela snickered, watching the Forsaken wallow in ankle-deep yuck, slopping over towards the Orb. "Don't care, but I get fifty-per-cent of the profits either way!"

"Oh come on, _I'm_ the one up to my armpits in this stuff... thirty, no more, no less."

"Forty."

"Thirty-five!"

"Done! Toss that thing up when you get it, there's no way you're gonna climb that wall if you're carrying it."

"Gotcha..." Reaching down, Thomas prized the Orb free of the muck, rubbed the worst of the clingy gunk free, and lobbed it at Daiela. She fumbled a little as the Orb landed with a gentle splat in her outstretched hands, before wrapping it in a rag she'd pulled from her pack.

"It was darkhounds did this. I'd recognise those pawprints anywhere. Look – they must of dragged him down over there. Ugh, give me a hand up..."

With barely a wince, Daiela knelt down and grasped Thomas' dead hand in her own.

At first, she had been so spurred on by a simple change of past-time that she hadn't spent a moment considering the implications of her decision to help the Undead. The joy of once more having a tail to swish and hooves that didn't spill her on her rump every five minutes had given her the sort of joy and willingness to help the world that only the holiest of Priests owned. She had pranced from the Chapel with her Undead companion hot on her heels, totally oblivious to the disbelieving and disapproving stares that followed in their wake. For two hours the sun had shone, the ground was soft, and the air was clear(ish. It was the Plaguelands, after all). Then, with an ominous swoosh, clouds had rushed over the horizon and rain followed soon after. With the patience of the Naaru Daiela had diligently retraced her steps, bravely (and very generously, she felt) ignoring Thomas' near-constant stream of weather related mutterings. As the rain got fouler travelling got harder, and it wasn't long before the inevitable happened.

The steady and torrential downpour had turned the already rotten ground into a festering quagmire, and Thomas and Daiela given up trying to stay mud-free. Hiking through knee-deep, sharp bladed grasses, the two pushed their way to the top of yet another hill, when_ it_ happened. Beneath them the ground seemed to groan, and then with an unholy lurch the entire sodden hillface let go of it's tenuous grasp to the more solid ground below. With a shriek Daiela plowed into Thomas, and in a tangle of limbs they had slid with the mud and the grass to the bottom of the hill. Adrenaline had spiked painfully through the Draenei's body at the fall, but she couldn't blame her sudden shaking fit on the subsequent low – as she disentangled herself from an equally miserable Thomas, she had caught a glimpse of raw bone and blackened flesh, and it finally hit home just what her new companion was.

They hadn't spoken for the rest of the day, and Daiela had known Thomas had caught the flash of revulsion she hadn't been able to keep from her face.

The next day had brought back the sun, and Daiela was woken by the light trickling over her

eyelids as the smell of bacon wafted gently past. She'd cracked open her eyes and stretched muzzily

before following her nose to find breakfast. A few yards away, so the sleeping Draenei wouldn't get smoked out, Thomas had built a little fire. He was currently knelt over it, fastidiously watching as the contents of the one pan the pair had between them sizzled and spat cheerfully. Warily she had perched opposite him, and as she nervously met his eyes, he held out the pan – _peace_, the gesture said, and his eyes said _please, please..._ Taking the pan from his cold hands and setting it next to her, she carefully split the little meal in two and offered him half.

He gave her a smile so full of gratefulness that she knew, no matter that she was a Paladin, no matter that he was Undead, she'd done the right thing.

After that, things had changed for the better.

--

With a final hazy swirl of colour, a new world solidified around the demondim. Slim legs trembling slightly, it waited for the focus to return to it's eyes.

What greeted it was horror.

Numb with shock, the demondim gazed around at the twisted and bloody mess surrounding it, and tried to reconcile the vile mess with the lush green pine forests that had blanketed this part of Azeroth last time it had visited. With growing rage it recognised the sweet, cloying scent of Fel.

_What – what have – How dare-?! They Cannot-! I will not allow..!_

Jaw slack and proud tail drooping, the demondim lowered it's head and closed it's eyes. Too late, it realised. Too late to reverse the damage, too late to restore the beloved forests, and far too late to save the small creatures it had once so loved the taste of.

It's eyes snapped open.

_But not too late to punish._

--

Chanting a rite, the small group of initiates and acolytes wound their way along the worn path to the Ziggurat. Drifting out of the plagued forests, the fruits of their Master's labours shadowed their way, miserable shades of a world too weak to resist the might of the Scourge. Ghouls and zombies, gargoyles and darkhounds snapping at eachother's heels, even a torn and leaking Abomination that lumbered behind the rest, putrid flesh dribbling along under and behind it's misshapen legs. Soul shattering wails tore the air as a troupe of banshees announced their presence, beckoning seductive death at any who glanced their way. In the midst of the dark parade, six new Warlocks and shadow Mages stepped warily, travelling towards this first rung on the ladder of Necromancy.

Grimacing as another stinking puddle splashed around his foot, Darrul Winterfall, soon-to be initiate of the mighty and insidious Scourge, stole a glance at the Mage walking next to him. She walked with the sort of grace one expected from Aristocracy, flowing over the ground like mist on wet grass. Her robes draped smoothly over her full figure, subtle colours shimmering as the enchantments woven into them hit the light. She had caught his eye on the minute she had appeared in the group, and – he flattered himself – he was sure he'd caught hers.

A chittering to his left made him jump, and he looked up with growing unease at the ghouls milling at the party's side. For six days the small group had been trailed by this particular pack, and never before had they seemed so... jumpy. Oh,. Sure, if some lost and sickened adventurer had come close the pack had shrieked and howled as they tried to follow the instinct to kill, but the pull of the Necromancers had held them in place. Now, though, they were quiet... unnaturally quiet for such a noisy breed of Undead. Shooting a glance to the left, Darrul nearly tripped in shock. Whimpering and snarling, the darkhounds were slinking ever closer to the Necromancers leading the party, forcing themselves as close as they dared.

As the banshees swirled away in a panicked flap of ghostly gowns, even the most unobservant of the group noticed something was wrong. Drawing to a holt, a mutter trickled through the group as the Abomination groaned in obvious fear. Darrul and the beautiful Mage exchanged a worried glance – _this_ wasn't in the script. With a final pained howl, the darkhounds broke the hold over them and dashed madly for the mist-drenched forest around them. Hungrily the miasma swallowed the pack, muffling their shrieks and moans of animal panic.

And then oozed open again to reveal... something.

About the size of a big cat, it paced forward, whiplash body sliding with subtle power towards them. It's crest-like mane rose above it's narrow ears, face tapering down towards a pointed muzzle. Sharp fangs grew out of bare bone exposed by peeling and patchy fur, and gaping nostrils flared in anticipation. Stopping a little way away from the group, it gave them time to clearly read it's deathly purpose for them, gleaming hollowly in it's strange eyes. Deliberately, it drew in a deep, deep breath...

And sang.

--

Before they had set out on their little expedition, Thomas had had the forethought to request a pair of Hearthstones, already set to return them to the Chapel, from the ever-chipper Hilfy, and the Gnome had flapped off in a cloud of skirts and petticoats before returning with the two small stones.

Now, muddied and completely sick of the obnoxious Plaguelands weather, the pair clasped a stone each, and with a heartfelt incantation, were swallowed in a haze of green Magic.

Daiela was more-or-less addicted to Hearthstones. She had awoken in the Exodar after the crash and had immediately offered to help in any way possible. She had been led into what had once been an inn, given a basic 'survival pack', then promptly shoved out the door and into a small group of other volunteers. They had been given a crash-course in native magics by a small, pink creature she eventually learned was a 'Human', and were then told to go practice. She had fished around in her pack until her fingers had brushed against the Hearthstone, and she had pulled it out with no small amount of trepidation. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she had recited the short spell to activate the thing, and subsequently fallen head-over-hooves in love.

As the green haze carried her away in the blur of summer and home it always conjured up, she sighed and tried to remember what it felt like to be comfortable once again. Nothing reminded her more of the home she'd lost forever than the magic in those little, painted rocks. Playful green light wove around her and she giggled, watching leaf-shaped images tumble past.

With a jolt, she smacked into the floor of the Chapel's inn.

"Ooow. Ow, ow. Y'know, after all the long years folks've been using these things, you'd think they'd figure out some way to make the landings softer..."

"Shut up, Thomas. I was _in the zone. _Also, please give me back my tail."

Nervous sniggering. "Oh, _that's_ what it was..."

Thwap.

"Ow..."

"Damn straight."

Thomas shook himself and glanced around. "Right, no-one's noticed us – on with the plan!"

The plan was theoretically very simple, and went thus: Sneak into Light's Hope Chapel, find somewhere to hide while they changed Thomas into whatever he was changing into, catch a Gryphon to Ironforge, and find their Dwarf. Of course, nothing was ever that easy, and both knew that quite a bit of improvising would be needed before they even left the Chapel.

A good half-hour after their arrival, they finally managed to find a dark little room to disappear into while they worked their magic. Daiela brought out the Orb, still wrapped in the rag dribbling slime. She gave it a quick wipe-over with another cleaner rag before holding it out to Thomas, who took it in one hand and glared at it.

"Okay. Now, how's this think supposed to work again?"

"Hmm..." Daiela sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that she'd been awake on the night she'd been accosted. "Sorry, I got nothing. Maybe we should try the Universal Opening Spell?"

"Ugh, alright... here goes nothing, I guess." Thomas sat up straight and squared his shoulders, as he shifted the Orb to sit in the palms of his clawed hands. Closing his eyes to concentrate, he uttered in a low, strangely powerful voice:

"Open Sesame."

Nothing happened.

Two pairs of glowing eyes focused on eachother, and Daiela had just opened her mouth to call Thomas out on his pronunciation,much to his horror, when the world exploded into purple swooshy lights.

"Ugh... okay, well that seemed to do the trick. Never knew my mouth had such amazing Magical prowess before, but they do say you learn something new every day!"

"Daiela, for once, shut up," Drawled a deep accented voice in front of her. The purple spangles flashed in her eyes a few more times before finally dying out, giving her a clear view of where Thomas sat.

Tilting his head to the side, Thomas glowered at Daiela as she sat, eyebrows at her hairline, trying _oh so very hard_ not to laugh. "Marvellous, yes, I'm an Elf. Can we _please_ get over the irony of the situation and _leave_?" Stretching out his long legs, The purple skinned Night Elf-cum-Undead tried to stand up, tripped, tried again, wobbled on the spot, then shook himself down. "Well this is nice. I suppose I shouldn't complain after all, you had it worse!" With a wicked snicker, Thomas dodged a halfhearted swat.

"Eh, whatever. Excuse me while I go and laugh myself into a coma."

What Daiela actually did was raise herself gracefully to her hooves and clop purposefully around Thomas, taking in the new look from all angles. "Hmm, it's a good thing the clothes you were wearing were loose, seeing as you've gained about a foot in height, and your cloak ought to cover up most of the patchier stuff. Actually, we could really make this work for us. Night Elves and Draenei often travel together, we can even pretend you're some sort of recluse or hermit or somesuch that doesn't talk much – so you don't give us away, yeah?"

Nodding thoughtfully, Thomas tugged his suddenly slightly tight shirt into better shape. "Yeah... let's just hope we don't meet a _real_ Night Elf though."

"Unlikely, they're not terribly fond of Ironforge. Anyway, it should be easy enough to avoid them – it's a big city, after all."

Shouldering packs, they slunk out of their hidey-hole towards the paddocks the Gryphons were held in. No-one looked twice at the pair, and they reached their destination without a problem. The Flightmaster stood a little way off, unsaddling a tired looking Gryphon while giving instructions to a flight-sick Human Rogue, who hurriedly excused herself and ran for the nearest patch of bushes.

"Oh great, I just remembered I don't like flying..."

"Come on Thomas! What's not to like? Miles above the ground, strapped into a beast with very little padding on the saddle, no way off until the next little Flightmaster's cottage tucked away in some unnamed wood somewhere, it's just brilliant!"

Thomas just smiled tightly.

"Alright then, be like that. Let's get this show on the road! Excuse me, Sir?" The Flightmaster turned and plastered a grin all over his face at the sight of customers. "Flights for Ironforge, please. Got anything good to go right away?"

"Yor in look, Missey, " the 'master oozed at her. Joos' got this 'ere birdie and that'un over thur ready for a flap... yoo payin oop front?"

"Err, yes?"

"Roighty-ho! That'll be ten silver for th'pair of yoo. This way, if yoo please!"

Following the Flightmaster as he trotted off towards the Gryphons indicated, Daiela and Thomas shared a look before shrugging. Oh well, if it got them to Ironforge...

The Gryphons were clearly ready to fly. They pranced as the 'master came over to them calling their names and jangling harnesses. They were already saddled and bridled, and all Daiela and Thomas needed to do was strap themselves into the harnesses and onto the saddles, then they were on their way. Perched on top of the restless beasts, the 'master lead them onto the grassy runway. With a sharp slap on the rumps, he called to the Gryphons 'Hey oop my lassies!', and the Gryphons tore off at a full gallop.

Daiela watched, spellbound, as two huge white wings rose on either side of her, and then started beating in time with the pounding legs. Soon enough the Gryphon was only skipping on the ground every other step, then with a mighty crashing wingbeat they lifted off. Trees slipped past under her hooves, And the Chapel itself soon too as the Gryphon circled for altitude. Up here the air was clearer and so was the view – for miles and miles underneath her the wreck of the Plaguelands stretched on, red and rotten. To her left and behind she heard the other Gryphon screech, and hers answered with a cry closer to a roar, overjoyed to be leaving the evil place their passengers took them to.

She felt like roaring, too.

Thanks all for reading! Much love to my wunnerful reviewers :)


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